


The Seventh Son

by AnaSophos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 18:19:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17452010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaSophos/pseuds/AnaSophos
Summary: Cedrella Black falls in love. Septimus Weasley decides that it's high time she meets his parents. In the middle of it all, the middle Black daughter can't help but think she is already a Weasley.





	The Seventh Son

**Author's Note:**

> Old old old one-shot, originally written for a writing challenge!

The Burrow is...  _different_.

It's a good different, though. There is noise, yet she feels at peace. There is very little space, yet she feels free. There is colour and life in every room, and she can't help but think that it is a stark contrast to the still, monochrome atmosphere of Twelve Grimmauld Place.

Grimmauld Place: the quiet and dank place she called -  _calls_  - home. A secondary home, really. The place she would have to sit in for the holidays for a few hours. A home, nonetheless. For no matter who she loves, Cedrella will always be a Black. Family is blood. Family is made up of the people that have seen you safely to your adulthood. And Cedrella loves her family. She yearns to  _always_  be a Black.

However, with each passing day that she spends with Septimus, this yearning grows smaller and smaller. Now, it is the size of a pea. A pea is apparently small enough for her to confess her undying love to the very man that her mother warned her about on her first day of school.

* * *

Lysandra was a proud woman, for even if her official documentation read "Lysandra Black," she stubbornly continued to introduce herself as Lysandra Yaxley - much to her husband's distaste. She could only hope for the day that dear Arcturus would have enough sense to see that her loyalties did not lie in her name, but in her heart. And in that heart, she only cared for three things: Callidora, Cedrella, and Charis.

Oh, not  _things_ , of course. Girls. Three girls.

The date was the first of September in the year nineteen twenty-eight, and her dear Cedrella would be making her way to Hogwarts. She was a somewhat boisterous girl and a bit too adventurous for Lysandra's tastes, but seven years in Slytherin would undoubtedly correct that.

However, for the meantime, Lysandra cursed her daughter's aloof personality and adamantly blamed it on her father's genetics. No Yaxley woman would ever parade herself in such a -

" _Cedrella Black!_ "

And there she went, causing trouble with every unsophisticated twirl of her skirt. With an indignant huff, Lysandra reached Cedrella in two strides of her long legs and forcibly grabbed her daughter's arm to pull her up from the ground. Her middle daughter had been whirling about the platform and had,  _of course_ , crashed into some poor, unsuspecting student.  _It just had to be a Gryffindor_ , Lysandra thought with a scowl as she eyed the slightly dishevelled boy before her. He seemed to be older than Cedrella, perhaps a tad older than Callidora, and -

Lysandra's scowl deepened. She would recognize that red hair anywhere.

"Come along, Cedrella," she said with a scoff as she tugged her daughter away from that traitorous blood. "You wouldn't want to be caught around his kind," she added once they reached their original spot, where they patiently waited for Arcturus.

"Why not?" eleven year-old Cedrella innocently inquired.

"Because he is a Weasley," Lysandra replied matter-of-factly. "The seventh son, if I am correct, and likely just as troublesome and just as much of a blood traitor as his six older brothers and the rest of his damned family. Stay far away from Septimus Weasley, Cedrella. Any Weasley, for that matter."

* * *

If Cedrella is spontaneous, then Septimus is on another scale of spontaneity entirely.

He always does things impulsively, but that is one of the many things she loves about him. She loves his small acts of chivalry and the way he speaks his mind. She loves his curiosity and his perceptiveness. She loves that he makes up for her shortcomings, just like she makes up for his - because the two of them fit perfectly together.

Septimus can be a bit overwhelming at times, though. He was so excited to hear the words "I love you" leave her mouth that his next words were actually, "Come meet my family," before his face grew red and he sputtered, "I love you too!"

That is where Cedrella is now - in the sitting area of the Burrow with a cup of tea in hand and Septimus at her side. Just as it should be, really. She can hear the hushed whispers of his parents and knows what they are discussing so fervently. There is a Black in their house, and that Black has stolen the heart of their youngest son.

Under normal circumstances, Cedrella is sure that his parents would be thrilled that Septimus is deciding to settle down. He is twenty-two years of age and for as long as Cedrella has known him, he has been very dismissive towards the idea of marriage. Perhaps this has something to do with him being the youngest of seven and not really being required to marry, seeing as his six older brothers have done a magnificent job of continuing the Weasley lineage.

Nevertheless, his parents worried. Now, Cedrella figures that they probably wish that Septimus went back to his old ways.

Strangely enough, it was Septimus' aversion to marriage that first caught Cedrella's attention.

* * *

Cedrella could do without her little shadow.

That shadow also went by the name of Charis Black, her younger sister.

It was Cedrella's first Hogsmeade weekend as a legal adult, and all she wanted to do was drink Firewhiskey with some cute seventh year. It was improper, of course, for an unmarried young woman such as herself to be so openly coy and drink alcohol without a well-prepared meal, but her mother was not around to redden her wrist with a burning slap, so there was no harm.

Alas, this was exponentially more difficult to do when her fifteen year-old sister was constantly at her heel.

With a dejected sigh, Cedrella pushed open the door of the Three Broomsticks and ushered Charis inside. She wasn't entirely sure why her younger sister followed her around in such a manner - perhaps this was their mother's method of keeping tabs on Cedrella's propriety, which, frankly, was nonexistent while she was at Hogwarts. All of the Slytherin girls sneered her way and whispered about how  _unladylike_  she was. How she didn't deserve to be a Black.

That comment in particular stung. Cedrella was proud to be a Black, and no self-absorbed hag had the right to say otherwise.

Cedrella and Charis sat at a small table that was nearby a booth filled with a rather loud crowd of men. Cedrella couldn't help but grimace, although there was very little she could do about her situation when there were no other tables available. She ordered two butterbeers for herself and Charis and waited in stony silence. Her sister, red-faced from the cold, started to yap about something or other. "Mother is introducing me to Caspar Crouch - "  _blah blah blah_. Ever since Callidora married Harfang, all Charis could talk about was marriage. And she had her sights set on the significantly older, albeit handsome, Caspar Crouch.

A loud bout of laughter caused Cedrella to flinch and redirect her piercing glare to the bustling booth nearby. The men were playing Exploding Snap, from what she could tell.  _How childish._  Her eyes met those of a red-haired man sitting at the edge of the booth and closest to her, his face red from alcohol and sporting freckles. His eyes were a light blue, Cedrella noted, and they had a hint of grey - like the morning sky after a night of rain. He leaned forward slightly and winked at her. Cedrella wrinkled her nose in distaste, although the action felt half-hearted. She couldn't help but be intrigued by the man.

"Something the matter, love?" he asked with a teasing smirk.

"You reek of alcohol," Cedrella answered sharply.

"You've already smelled me?" he countered with feigned disbelief. "That must be a record."

"Oi, Septimus! Snog her or play your turn!"

Cedrella felt her face redden and promptly turned away from him with a scoff.  _Septimus...?_  she wondered.  _As in Septimus Weasley?_  She glanced at him in the corner of her eye. He seemed to be about twenty or twenty-one years of age, and lacked the decorum that Cedrella was raised to admire in men. He was raucous and improperly flirtatious with a woman that he didn't even know. His behaviour even caused Charis to look away in embarrassment.

And yet, it brought a smile to Cedrella's face and caused her to look his way once more. She met his mirthful blue eyes again, and this time, he smiled kindly instead of smirking.

* * *

Cedrella feels as if it's been ages since she last saw the Weasley patriarch and matriarch, but she knows it has only been about ten minutes. It's the nervousness of saying something wrong - of  _being_  wrong - that puts her on edge. Why should they trust her, a Black? After all of the strife the Blacks have given the Weasleys, Cedrella is ready to be kicked out of the Burrow.

After her encounter with Septimus at the Three Broomsticks, Cedrella did not see neither hide nor hair of the youngest Weasley until the end of her seventh year, when she saw him greeting his oldest nephew after his first year of Hogwarts. He saw her too, and once again, he smiled. Cedrella looked away before her mother or father could notice.

Then, she saw him at Flourish and Blotts. He confessed that she was always on his mind. After that, they sent letters to each other and met in secret.

Now, during her first Christmas out of Hogwarts, Cedrella is at the Burrow instead of at Grimmauld Place. She is with the Weasleys instead of the Blacks.

She cannot help but think that this means something for her future. Once upon a time, she would have resigned herself to the fate of becoming Cedrella Malfoy. But now...

"Cedrella," Septimus' mother starts with a kind, although strained, tone. "Lovely to meet you. I am curious to know how long you and Septimus have - er - well I'm not entirely - oh, dear."

"She means to ask for how long you've loved our son," Septimus' father supplies. He is a tall man and speaks confidently.

"I - oh. Well, I do believe it's been a matter of hours," Cedrella confesses. As soon as the words leave her mouth, the two Weasleys before her give her quizzical frowns and she blushes at the ridiculousness of her answer. It is true, of course, and that makes it even more silly.

"Yes, it has, hasn't it?" Septimus agrees. "Well, now--we have been seeing each other for quite a few months, and yet we've only come to our senses now. How silly of us, really."

" _Months?_ " Septimus' mother breathes out with a shocked look on her face.

"Indeed," Septimus confirms with a nod. He speaks in the same confident manner as his father. "She told me she loved me and then I thought, 'she should meet my parents before she decides that!'"

"What's that supposed to mean?" his father questions with a raised eyebrow, but a smile is tugging at his lips and his tone has a hint of amusement. If Cedrella ever dared to say such a thing to her parents, she is sure that her face would have been stinging in that moment.

"Oh, you know very well, Dad," Septimus retorts with a chuckle.

Cedrella looks up from her cup of tea and notices that Septimus' mother is intently staring at her with a soft smile on her face. She cannot help but think that the Weasley mother is exceptionally beautiful and the look of kindness on her face - almost identical to the Septimus' caring stare - suggests that she no longer cares if Cedrella is a Black or a Slytherin. Somehow, Cedrella thinks, Septimus's mother can see the love between her son and the pale-skinned, dark-haired girl sitting in her chair.

"I assume this will not go over very well with your parents," Septimus' mother states quietly.

Cedrella fills a sick feeling settle in the pit of her stomach. Her parents - how could she have forgotten so easily? She is a Black for life...  _right?_  "No, it will not," Cedrella agrees. The joking looks on Septimus' and his father's faces have disappeared. "I know this will sound selfish, but... may I end this year with my family? They - they have given me everything, and I - I - "

Cedrella holds back a sob as Septimus squeezes her hand comfortingly. As soon as she declares her engagement to him, she will be as good as scum to her parents and sisters. She knows the vicious words that will be thrown her way from the mouths of her admirable Callidora and her sweet Charis. She remembers the way that her Uncle Phineas was treated when he started supporting Muggle rights. The memory of his burning off of the tapestry only makes her more sick to her stomach.

She needs to have this last happy memory with them. No matter what they say to her after she marries Septimus, she never wants to hate her family.

Because Cedrella is a Weasley, and she is above hatred.


End file.
